Herbert Nehrlich - A Passing

Maples, proudly
showing
scarlet leaves,
in brazen wind.

An icy prominence,
he shuffles
down the path,
well-lined by
powdered birches.

No sound is heard,
a prickly feeling
of melancholy happiness
engulfing gently
his frail physique.

Yes, 'Welcome',
the word
slips easily
off bluish lips
as solitude now beckons
and offers up
a bed of moss
to rest a little while.

It was a miracle
that, strangely,
he had reached
down here
on earth
his paradise.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-passing-2/